Escape of the Archangel
by themodernteen
Summary: Adaptation of the 14x14 episode "Ouroboros" when Dean is unconscious after getting his head slammed into the wall by the demigod. My own interpretation of the episode, what goes through Dean's mind in his internal battle against Michael, and a worried Sam and Castiel watching him endure it.
1. Chapter 1

**Here we go, a new fic! In lieu of the upcoming _Supernatural _season premiere, here's my adaptation of one of my favorite scenes of season 14. Takes place in season 14 episode 14 "Ouroboros" when the boys are tracking the flesh-eating demigod. A few additions of my own and a written adaptation of the actual episode. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any **_**Supernatural **_**characters or content.**

_CLANK!_

Dean shot upright, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

He looked around, immediately alert, instinctively reaching for the gun at his belt, and ready to fight this new danger.

This new danger was Sam. He looked at Dean with an amused grin on his face as he slid over a mug filled with steaming coffee, the source of the loud clank.

"Morning," Sam raised a brow, "sleep well?"

Dean grumbled a response back, but was thankful for the coffee. The aroma of the ground beans was irresistible.

"You been here all night?" Sam took the seat opposite of him. They were in the kitchen, the rest of the bunker was quiet. Every time he thought that, he was reminded as to the tragic fate of the other hunters that left the bunker so quiet.

"Guess so," Dean huffed. He tiredly rested his head in his hands.

"You look beat."

"Well you don't look too great yourself, Diana Ross."

The crack flew right over Sam's head. At this point he had grown immune, "I'm serious, Dean. You should get some rest, take a day to just-"

"To what?" Dean's tone was only half joking, "Take a bath? Paint my nails? Yeah, I'm sure Michael would love a spa day."

Sam was quiet, staring at the table top as Dean's frustration gave way to his exhaustion. Sam was right, he _was_ beat, but what was he going to do? He couldn't give Michael an inch, not a centimeter. Dean couldn't let that happen under any circumstances. Already he was sleeping barely an hour or two a night, just enough to keep him functional and fighting. He had to endure. The moment he let his guard down, he knew Michael would bang those cage doors down and take over.

Dean looked up to see the guilt in Sam's eyes. He knew his brother felt useless in this situation, that he wished Michael was locked inside his head instead of Dean's. If roles were reversed, Dean would feel the same. Heck, roles _were _reversed. When Lucifer was banging away in Sam's brain a few years back, he just wanted to rip that son of a gun out and send him down to hell where he belonged.

"Look, Sammy," Dean sighed, "I'll be fine. Just give me some time."

"How much time, Dean? How much longer can you keep going like this?"

Dean couldn't give an answer because he didn't have one.

Thankfully, Castiel appeared at the doorway. Dean was grateful for the change in conversation, Sam not as much so.

"What's up, Cass?" Dean asked.

"Am I interrupting-"

"No," Dean said quickly, firmly.

Sam pursed his lips.

Cass cleared his throat, continuing, "I think we've got a case. Two victims have turned up in New Mexico, all of their internal organs were missing including their eyeballs."

"What happened to the organs?" Sam asked.

"It appears the perpetrator had been using them to make dinner," Cass responded.

"Well," Dean sipped the last of his coffee, "looks like we're heading to New Mexico."

0o0o0o0o0o

Castiel dropped to the carpet like a sack of potatoes.

There was a burned green mark on his cheek from where this snake-loving demigod planted a smooch. The paralyzing venom had already taken hold of the angel, and he fell like a stone to the floor, unmoving.

"Cass!"

Jack reacted. He tried charging the demigod from behind, but it had met him with a firm kick that sent him flying into the cupboards.

Sam and Dean rounded the corner. Cass had said this demigod was unable to sense angels, but the Winchesters were no surprise to him.

"Hello, Dean," the demigod turned to face them, clad in his snakeskin coat, "wish I could say it's nice to meet you in person."

Sam surveyed the scene before them. Cass was paralyzed on the floor and Jack was slow to get up in the corner.

"Oh, yeah," Dean said in a low voice, wielding his knife, "it's a real pleasure."

Sam stepped forward first, face a mask of anger. He lunged with his knife, but the demigod ducked, grabbed his arm, and flung him down next to Jack.

Dean tried next. He attacked first, but the demigod ducked and punched him across the face. He rolled, parrying all of his blows, as Sam struggled to stand behind them.

His thoughts were moving at a mile a minute in his head. Usually, Dean was relaxed and let his instinct take over in a hunt. Recently, it had been much different. He felt mentally exhausted, and every thought was a challenge to prevent Michael from escaping. All of his concentration was so focused on the archangel, that every movement was a risk. He was tired of losing, tired of being controlled. Yet, he wasn't up to his full potential.

Dean was caught in the demigod's slippery grasp. He reeled a fist back and prepared to let it fly, but the demigod grabbed his arm and, using his momentum, cracked his head against the wall hard.

_BANG!_

"Dean!" Sam yelled. His voice, somehow reaching his ringing ears.

Pain erupted in his head, as his vision crossed and his eyes struggled to stay open.

He felt the demigod tighten his grip on him again. _No..._he thought weakly, _no..._

_BANG!_

Something else clicked in his mind. Something much more dark and powerful.

Once again, the demigod slammed his skull into the wall. The ringing grew louder. A wall of darkness enclosed around him, mingled with sharp pain.

He felt the demigod release him. Dean couldn't even keep his eyes open.

He fell to the floor, unmoving.

**Next chapter coming soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter, enjoy!**

Sam picked himself up again. His thoughts were focused on Dean, but they couldn't let the demigod escape and kill again. He charged forward in attack, but the quick monster pushed him back over the table. He heard glass shatter as he tumbled to the floor hard.

As Sam struggled to stand, the demigod quickly grabbed its backpack and hurriedly rounded the corner.

_SHINK!_

Its head toppled to the floor. Jack stood next to its body, panting, wielding his bloody knife. He stepped over the corpse and back into the main room. Sam was relieved the demigod had been taken care of, but they weren't out of the woods yet.

"Check on Cass," he said in a low voice, panting, "I got Dean."

As Jack kneeled by Cass' side, Sam slowly turned Dean onto his back. Blood dripped from a nasty cut on his forehead. He was still unconscious.

"Hey, hey, hey," Sam tried to shake him slightly so he'd wake up, "Dean?"

He pressed two fingers at his neck, expression filled with dread, as he felt for a pulse.

As Castiel sat upright, shaking off the last of his paralysis, Sam felt his chest tighten.

"Wake up!" he shouted, desperate, "Hey! Dean?"

His brother showed no signs of life. It was only his thready pulse that reassured Sam he was still alive. He turned towards Jack and Cass, "Guys!"

He redirected his focus to Dean again. The wide eyed expressions of both Jack and Cass were not reassuring, "Hey," he said with a strained voice, "Wake up. Dean."

"Is...is he alright?" Jack asked tentatively.

"I don't know," Sam's heart was racing, "We need to take him to the hospital."

"And say what?" Cass stood, "That there's an archangel in his head? They'll lock us all up."

"To the bunker then," Sam was out of options, "Rowena is there, she can help us."

Cass nodded, "I'll get the car. Jack, help Sam with Dean."

Jack raced by Sam's side as they gently lifted him up. Sam slung one of Dean's arms across his neck and Jack did the same.

Dean was limp between them. Blood dripped from his forehead.

"We've got you," Sam whispered to himself unsurely, "We've got you, Dean. You're gonna be alright."

Dean made no show of hearing him. Jack didn't dare voice his own concerns. He had seen how hard that hit to the head was. Dean was lucky to still be alive.

They carefully walked outside as the Impala engine grumbled in the silence of the afternoon. Cass raced out of the driver's seat and helped Sam and Jack gently lay Dean down across the backseat.

"I'll drive," Sam sat behind the wheel. Jack sat beside him and Castiel in the back with Dean. Nobody bothered to counter Sam's direction. It would be good for him, to keep his mind on the road instead of on Dean. Their only option now was to wait.

Sam threw the car into drive and sped off. Every few seconds, he'd look through the rearview mirror and check on Dean, ensuring he was still alive. Castiel was examining the wound on his temple, Jack casting a few concerned glances at Sam. The younger Winchester brother raced down the road, but all of them were praying Dean would pull through alright.

0o0o0o0o

Night approached fast, but Sam's grip on the wheel was just as tight. His boot was slammed against the pedal, pushing it to the floor. The American countryside blurred by them as they neared the Oklahoma border crossing, preparing to enter Kansas.

All of them were wide awake and alert accept for Dean. He had remained unmoving since their departure, not a wink. Sam wished he'd just open his eyes for a moment, just so they'd know he was alright. Any sign of life.

Castiel had tried to heal his injury, to no avail. Dean's mind was unclear and at war with itself. He would have to try again at the bunker, hopefully then he'd be able to heal him.

Sam kept his pressure on the pedal as they continued on.

0o0o0o0o

Castiel and Sam each had one of Dean's arms draped across their necks as they led him through the bunker doorways.

"Maggie!" Sam called as they descended the stairs, "Get Rowena in the infirmary!"

Maggie came running to the entrance, taking in the scene before her. She saw a weary looking Cass and Sam, Jack trailing behind. Then she saw an unconscious Dean.

She nodded, "On it, there's an empty bed in the infirmary!"

They rushed through the bunker as fast as they dared without injuring Dean further. Rowena heard the commotion and appeared at the doorway.

"Oh my," she gasped.

Her eyes settled on Jack, following behind Sam and Castiel.

"What happened?" she asked breathily, voice filled with concern, "Is he…?"

"No," the nephilim shook his head, "he was injured during the hunt. The demigod slammed his head into the wall," he looked to the floor.

Rowena's eyes widened. Jack didn't have to explain the dire consequences of Dean's head injury. Dean's mental cage was the only defense they had against Michael.

They hurried after the others, Maggie right behind.

Sam and Castiel grunted with effort as they carried Dean towards the bed.

Rowena and Jack waited by the door as Maggie spoke up, "W-Why won't he wake up? Is he-"

"It's a head injury," Sam explained quickly as he lay Dean's head against the pillow. Castiel lifted his feet onto the metal bar at the end of the bed. He lay horizontal, still unmoving.

"I'll get ice!" Maggie raced out of the infirmary.

"Cass," Sam looked towards the angel desperately, "do it."

He placed three fingers on Dean's forehead, closing his eyes and concentrating.

Castiel tried to search Dean's mind. It was still foggy, muddled, filled with darkness. Dean's normal memories were scattered, the only thing that he felt was pain and...tension. Like a taut rope about to snap. He tried searching for Michael, for the cage they had forged in Rocky's Bar. Yet, even that was lost.

"Well?" Sam pressed.

"I still can't heal him," his voice was strained, "I can't even see what's going on inside his head."

Sam's face fell.

Jack stepped forward, "I can help."

"No, Jack," Castiel immediately opposed, "I appreciate what you did for me, but you cannot afford to burn off any more of your soul."

Jack's steely gaze travelled to Dean. He didn't meet Castiel's eye, as he turned and walked out, defeated.

Cass watched him go, wanting to say more but not sure what.

Rowena stepped forward, "So that's what you have him doing?"

Sam felt for Jack, but at this moment he was more concerned about Dean's well being. "We'll talk about it later, Rowena. Now is not a good time."

Cass tried to push Jack out of his mind, "Maybe the gorgon did something to Dean before he-"

"Smashed his face into the wall?" Rowena's tone was thin.

Both Sam and Cass looked at her, neither of them saying a word.

Cass took one more glance at Dean. He felt powerless because he couldn't do anything to help stop Michael. He couldn't even heal Dean's head wound. After all the times Dean had saved him - had saved the world - this was how he was repaid?

Castiel walked out, leaving Rowena and a desperate Sam alone.

Sam had seen plenty of injuries in his day. He had seen Dean at the brink of death, he had watched his brother die in his arms. Yet, this was a whole new ballgame. There was an archangel in his mind, and now he was fighting an internal battle alone and unaided. Castiel couldn't heal him, there had to be something else that could be done.

Sam's voice cracked as he turned to Rowena, "What do I do?"

In all the years she'd known him, the witch had never seen Sam look so desperate and lost. Yet, she was at a lost too. There was no magic nor angelic remedy that could fix this. Dean had to endure this toil by himself, as much as it pained them all to realize.

"Clean his wound. Make him comfortable, then….," she sighed, "we'll see."

Sam watched as he walked out as well. It was just him and Dean, like it always had been through the years. Friends and allies came and went, but it was the two of them from the getgo. He couldn't think of the dire situation at hand, he had to keep a strong face for Dean.

Sam opened the bedside table drawer, removing a towel to clean the wound as Rowena advised. Blood pulsed slowly from the wound now, a few drops dotted the white pillow. In all these hours since the incident, he hadn't moved a muscle.

Sam gripped the towel in one hand, prepared to wipe the blood away. If only he would give one sign that he was-

The moment Sam gripped the top of his head to hold him steady, Dean flinched.

He grunted with pain, eyes still closed as he remained trapped in his mental war against Michael.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, as he tried to hold him down, "Hey!"

Dean's expression was a mixture of pain and effort. He was struggling against an invisible enemy, one that Sam couldn't see or help defeat. Dean kept thrashing against the bed.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Sam gasped, trying to ease his brother who he knew couldn't hear him.

Then, as quick as it started, Dean relaxed. He remained motionless on the bed once more, like the whole episode had never occurred. Sam felt his heart clench further. He had wished Dean would show some movement, but now he knew his brother was suffering and in pain. The guilt and concern was eating away at him.

Every time one of them was in a hard place, the other would call on Heaven and Earth, sometimes Hell, to stop it. And that's what Sam would do.

He would find a way to help Dean, no matter what it took.

**Leave me a fav/follow/review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Dean opened his eyes, but was greeted with blackness. It was like what Castiel had described of The Bad Place. There was nothing around him, just midnight black as far as the eye could see.

He stood up tentatively, sizing up his surroundings.

"Hello, Dean."

A voice echoed around him.

"Who's there?" he asked gruffly, preparing for a fight.

He knew who it was. It was the archangel who had stolen his voice and body.

Sure enough Michael appeared before him. He was wearing that dark burgundy coat and tie and that damned newsboy cap. His lips were spread in a victorious grin.

"Where am I?" Dean demanded.

"Why, don't you recognize your own mind, Dean?" Michael's voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm.

Dean looked around, shocked. This was _his_ mind? There was nothing except darkness.

"This-this can't be…"

"Well, it's no longer your mind, Dean," Michael smiled like a fox, "it's ours."

"No," Dean shook his head, "you're supposed to be-"

"What?" Michael laughed, "Locked up in your silly little cage? Oh, Dean, will you never learn?"  
"Last time I checked that cage was holding you down pretty well," Dean growled.

"Up until you grew careless," Michael tutted, "which I knew you would."

Dean looked to the ground.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Dean," Michael sounded like he was giving an evil pep talk, "it's difficult work to keep an archangel of my caliber locked away inside your mind. I thought you'd bend sooner."

"Who said I would've bent at all?" Dean said through clenched teeth.

"You know as well as I that you would have, Dean, otherwise you wouldn't have entertained your ridiculous idea of a one-way trip to the bottom of the ocean," Michael smiled, "and what _fun_ we would have had together if you went through with it."

Dean straightened up, "I locked you away once before, I can do it again."

Michael chuckled under his breath and held his hands out, "Go ahead."

Dean closed his eyes, concentrating. He imagined Rocky's Bar. He willed for it to appear. When he opened his eyes, he was in the same place. Michael standing across from him, both of them encased in darkness. Nothing.

"Dean, I own you now. I am in control," Michael's sarcasm gave way to fury. He took advancing steps forward, "I was kind before. I gave you your own little perfect illusion, and what did you do to repay me? You locked me away. Well, not again. This time I will make you suffer, I will make you watch as I kill, and I think I'll start with your dear, baby brother!"  
Michael swung a hand back and punched Dean square in the jaw. He went reeling back, trying to shake off the pain as Michael towered above him. This was it, the battle for his mind and body. If he gave up now, Michael would have complete control. There was no way Dean would be able to kick him out a third time. He had to keep fighting, no matter how tired he was.

He stood up, wiping the blood from his lip, "Don't you touch my brother."

"And will you stop me?" Michael scoffed.

"Your angel powers won't fly in here," Dean growled, "it's you against me, Michael. A fair fight."

Michael nodded once, rolling up his sleeves, "Powers or not, Dean, do you expect to defeat an archangel?"

"Done it twice before," Dean taunted, "thought I'd test my luck for a third."

He could tell that comment stung Michael and his pride.

Dean clenched his fists, reading to fight for his freedom once and for all.

Sam was hunched over in the chair beside Dean's bed. He had been sitting there for a few hours now, leg bouncing against the floor anxiously. His hands were steeped under his chin, as his eyes remained fixed on his brother. He didn't want to near Dean again, not since what happened last time. Every once in a while, Dean would flinch and Sam knew it was a result of his internal battle with Michael.

He wanted to help, he needed to help his brother. But how? There was no remedy he could find in extracting an angry, all-powerful archangel from your head. He had browsed through the Men of Letters' books, poured over the lore, and his vision blurred from staring at his computer screen for so long.

All he could do now was wait.

The creak of the floorboards behind Sam alerted him that someone was standing in the doorway. He turned around to see Rowena.

He sighed, sitting up, stretching his stiff muscles.

"Any change?" she asked tentatively.

"Nothing," Sam looked to the floor.

Rowena walked to Dean's side. She recalled the days the Winchesters were her enemies, when they had tried to thwart her former plans, but not she had to admit she was rather fond of the boys. It gave her purpose to help them, to assist the poor souls out there caught in the crossfire between Heaven and Hell.

Dean's wound was no longer bleeding, thankfully, and Sam had hastily cleaned it and patched it up. Sam noticed her confused look.

"I didn't want to touch him," he confessed, "every time I do, he just keeps thrashing. I-I just don't want to interfere-"

"With Michael," she nodded, "I understand."

"Could you try to heal him?" Sam's voice was so filled with worry, it twisted her heart.

"I've tried, Samuel, but if Castiel, an angel, cannot heal him then what good could I do?"

"Well, you couldn't hurt at this point," Sam sat back in his chair, defeated, "I've researched for hours trying to find a solution."

His tone was growing frustrated, desperate.

He clenched his teeth, "Day after day, year after year, all Dean has done is help people. He's been possessed, tortured, killed, sent to Hell, but still he comes back and does what he needs to do."

Rowena finished his sentence for him, "So why not someone else?"

He looked at her and nodded curtly.

"Sam, I don't know in what mysterious ways this universe works," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "but I can say that I believe in fate and destiny. Everything happens for a reason. We can spend our entire lives wondering why, but we'll never truly know the answer."

Sam's voice was tight with emotion, "What's the reason behind this?"

"It's difficult to say," she tried to think positive, "but maybe this was the only way Dean could finally deal with Michael."

Sam was silent.

"You told me he was struggling, and I don't blame him. Having an archangel cooped up in your brain is not exactly simple. If your brother is suffering now, think how torturous it must've been for him every waking moment. Perhaps this is what was needed, no matter how difficult it is to watch."

"I-I just wish I could help him," Sam's voice cracked, "to be there as he goes through it."  
"And you are, Samuel," she tried for a small smile, "you've not left his bedside since he arrived. He knows your presence is here, and I assure you he is grateful."

Sam released a long, deep breath. After a moment, he looked up at the witch, "Thank you, Rowena, that-that really helped a lot."

She nodded, retreating out of the room to leave Sam alone with his brother.

She hoped her words were true. Though she said them to keep Sam's morale high, she prayed to whatever god was listening that Dean Winchester pulled through in the end.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the very delayed update, but it's finally here! Enjoy! **

Dean rolled painfully to a stop. His muscles ached and he wiped the blood from his lip. Michael stalked over to him slowly, like a panther hunting its prey. He was enjoying beating Dean to a pulp.

"Oh, come on, Dean," Michael taunted, "you can stop a few apocalypses but not one archangel?"

"Shut up," Dean growled under his breath as he rose to his feet.

"You just don't want to admit that I've already won," the archangel smiled, "you are mine."

"Never."

Michael stepped back with a smile, holding his arms open. It was an invite for Dean to attack, to show that he was not defeated.

He stood up. Michael was just a human in his mind, his angelic powers were of no use. Yet, Dean still felt like he was better and stronger. It was his own insecurities against the archangel who had used him. In his heart, he felt like Michael would always have the power to go and come as he pleased.

_No. _He had to remind himself that he had free will. This was _his_ body and _his_ mind. No archangel or any other being in the universe controlled it but him. Dean stood straight and tall, like an iron statue.

"What?" Michael smirked, "Have you given up already?"

"I'm not moving," Dean retorted, "in fact I'm not going anywhere, Michael. If you want to fight me for my body, then you're going to have to come get me."

Michael's smirk dropped. This was a new power move by Dean. Majority of Michael's victory came from Dean's already desperate mindset. If Dean believed Michael was in control, then he'd have the upper hand. This changed the tide.

"Don't be ridiculous," Michael tried to recover, "Dean, you already know-"

"Enough talk. Come and fight me."

Dean's expression was stern, his voice ice cold. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He nodded and shed his coat. He tossed his hat aside and rolled up his button sleeves.

Dean clenched his fists in preparation.

The archangel charged fiercely. This was a warrior of heaven who had survived a post-apocalyptic world. He reeled his fist back and aimed for Dean's jaw. The hunter managed to move aside at the last second, feeling the wind of the punch. Michael immediately recovered and swung while Dean was off balance. He struck him right in the gut, sending Dean keeling over. Michael grabbed him by the arm, twisted, and threw him to the ground.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam's eyes shot open as Dean thrashed in bed again. This time it was more violent, his pain-filled grunts more intense as he fought an invisible enemy.

"Hey, hey!" Sam tried placing his hands on his brother's shoulders to keep him down, "Dean!"

Dean rolled to the side quickly, as Michael's boot stomped on the spot where his head was just a few seconds before. He barely got to his feet as the archangel swung at him again. Michael's fighting style was fast and dizzying. Everytime Dean took a breath, he was dodging a punch or blocking a kick. It was wearing him out, he was panting and bleeding.

"Come on, Dean!" Michael growled, "You wanted me to fight you!"

He charged once more, throwing Dean towards the ground. His back connected with the ground painfully.

"Cass!" Sam shouted, "Cass, get in here!"

_Where the hell is he?!_

Dean's thrashing hadn't stopped. Sam was keeping him pinned to the mattress, but his brother's fighting was growing more violent and intense.

"Jack!" Sam called again.

Nothing.

It was up to him. He needed to help his brother the only way he knew how.

"Listen to me, Dean," Sam said with a choked voice, "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but you need to fight this. You will not let Michael control you, you will not let me lose you again, okay? I know what you're capable of and Michael does too, that's why he wants you so bad. This is _your_ mind, Dean, your home field. Do what you have to, and get that son of a bitch out of here."

"_And get that son of a bitch out of here…"_

Dean heard Sam's voice echo through his ears. He looked up, but Michael seemed to not have registered it.

"Sam?" he asked quietly under his breath.

It must've been from the outside. His brother was there.

Sammy, the one he vowed his father to protect always, alive or dead, possessed or not. Dean clenched his fists. This was his mind, his body, and his life. Archangel or not, this winged bastard was gonna see who was in charge of it.

"I'm coming, Sam," he said determinedly to himself, "I'm coming."

"Back for more?" Michael taunted, cracking his knuckles.

Dean held his hand out.

Michael looked at him, puzzled.

"You know, Michael, you may be powerless in here," Dean smirked, "but this is my mind, and I sure as hell am not."

In Dean's open palm, a silver angel blade materialized.

For a moment, just a brief moment, a look of fear came into Michael's eyes. Yet, it was gone just as soon as it came, replaced by a glare filled with pride.

"That won't kill me," the archangel scoffed.

"No," Dean agreed, "it won't. But it'll do some damage, and I don't know about you but I'm a little curious as to how much."

Michael took a step forward in challenge.

Dean gripped the silver hilt firmly. He charged forward and sliced downwards towards the archangel. Michael swerved to the side and tried to throw a punch, but Dean ducked in time and kicked him to the ground.

Michael slid backwards, floored. His brows furrowed, face expressionless, as he stood again. He stood up again, stiff, on the defense.

"Go on, Michael," Dean growled, "If you're in charge here, think up a gun or a blade or something."

Michael's jaw clenched. Dean could tell he was thinking, but after a few moments nothing happened.

He smiled. Michael ran towards him, ducking and punching, aiming for Dean's chest. The fist connected, but he sliced downwards and cut a deep gash on the archangel's forearm.

He hissed in pain, staggering backwards as blood stained his white button-down.

"You were warned, you son of a bitch," Dean said with a heavy voice, "to get out of my head and leave me alone."

He roared as he met his adversary. He kicked and sliced and punched and ducked. Michael was keeping pace, but he no longer had the upper hand. It was even. But Dean didn't want even, he wanted to win. He needed to.

"Come on, Feathers!" He jeered as Michael's uninjured arm cradled his wounded one. Blood seeped through his fingers. He was looking pale and weary. The wound wouldn't actually affect him if the archangel vacated his body, but it was enough to knock any being to its feet.

Dean and Michael were locked in the fight again. The angel elbowed Dean in the face, leaving his nose bloody. Dean shoved the hilt of the sword into Michael's abdomen, leaving him gasping for air. It was a back and forth battle until Dean felt adrenaline rage through him. Sammy's words still echoed through his head, and he felt like he was finally triumphing.

When Michael stumbled while trying to execute an offensive attack, Dean capitalized. He pushed the angel back until he was on the ground. Dean crouched above him, pinning him down. The edge of the angel blade steel was pressed against his windpipe.

Michael's eyes widened. Dean's face hovered inches away from him. Both were breathing heavily, bloody, and weary.

The point was pressed so close to his throat, a bead of blood emerged from beneath the sharp edge.

"Give up, Michael," Dean said through gritted teeth.

The archangel struggled beneath him, but Dean held strong.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Michael's smile was blood-stained, "you are my perfect vessel. Do you expect me to abandon you so easily?"

"If you don't, I'll kill you," his tone was firm.

"You said it yourself, Dean, I won't die in here."

"No, but what will happen to you? You'll be blasted to bits, scattered. How do you think you'll recover from that if I'm in control? I could stop you, prevent you from forming ever again."

Michael's smiled faded.

"I've come back before, Dean, I'll come back again."

"No," Dean shook his head surely, "no, you won't."

Something in his eyes and voice made it true. Dean was in control. He'd never allow another angel inside again. For extra persuasion, Dean pressed the blade down a little harder. A small trail of blood trickled down the archangel's neck.

"Well?"

After a few tense moments, he looked Dean dead in the eye, "You can shove your secrets and your pain way down, Dean, but it's there. Years of torment broiling beneath the surface. One day it'll come back to haunt you, and I cannot wait to see you crumble when it does."

Before Dean could reply, a blinding white light blared beneath him. He fell backwards, a whooshing sound filling his ears, as he was surrounded in white.

**Leave me a fav/follow/review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**And the final chapter! Thanks for all the support for this small story, hope you all enjoyed the read! Check out my other work for some more Supernatural content among others! And without further ado... ~themodernteen**

Castiel was in Jack's bedroom. He knew he had injured the nephilim's feelings by discouraging him to use his soul to heal Dean. The angel had often entered the infirmary to check on the Winchester brothers.

There had seemed to be no change. Sam declared that Dean would thrash and struggle ever so often, but mostly he was still and motionless. He scolded himself for being so useless, cursed Michael's hold on his friend's mind. His angelic powers were no match against the archangel from the apocalyptic world. Unfortunately this was Dean's fight and Dean's fight alone.

Now, he had gone to rectify things with Jack. At least, this he could accomplish.

Jack sighed, facing him, "...He said that he didn't know if I was the chicken or the snake. Does that…?"

A distant crashing caught both of their attentions. A concerned look crossed Cass' face, "Dean!"

Both of them raced out of the room towards the infirmary.

When they entered, Dean was no longer on the cot. He was upright, charging across the room, yet his eyes were still closed.

He slammed any objects in his path: bedpans, cabinets, containers, bottles, papers - anything in his way was toppled. Glass shattered, metal clattered. He was on a destructive rampage.

Meanwhile, Sam stood a few feet away from him. He was trying to find a way to contain Dean, but he didn't know exactly what to do. One moment, Dean was on the bed and as still as the dead, the next we was raging across the room.

Cass and Jack appeared at the doorway, as Dean continued to fight.

"Where is he!?" he shouted, "Where is he!?"

"No! Wait!" Sam tried to calm him down, "Dean! Dean!" he had no idea what Dean was experiencing in his mind, "No! Stop! Dean, stop it! It's-it's me! You're in the bunker!"

Dean opened his eyes, stiff, ready for the attack, "I know where I am!" blood still trickled from his forehead, his right eye was black and bruised, "That's not-"

Suddenly, he quieted. The room was silent, all of them waiting for the next move.

"Dean," Sam called his name.

His brother turned to face him. Dean's eyes were wide. His expression was confused, relieved, concerned, panicked, and shocked. Cass, Jack, and Sam were all equally puzzled.

"He's gone."

That was it. Michael was gone. Dean searched his mind, tried imagining Rocky's Bar. He envisioned the storage room that once locked Michael away. It was completely empty. His mind felt at ease too, like a heavy, burdensome weight had been removed. There were no taunts, jabs, or his archangel look-a-like. He had won the fight, he had evicted him.

"Michael. He's gone."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was late in the bunker. The aftermath of Michael's attack against them and Jack disintegrating the archangel was starting to settle.

Sam was in the main room with Jack, trying to clean up the mess of the hunters' remains. The others offered to relieve him of the sad responsibility, but he insisted on being there. Dean, although wanting to help, was utterly exhausted. After Michael fled his mind, he jumped into Rowena. Jack stepped up to save the day which they were all grateful for, but it had Cass worried for his soul.

Killing an archangel was no simple task. That required a lot of power, power Jack borrowed by burning off his soul. Dean was in the infirmary, trying to patch up his wounds.

"Need some help there?" he turned as Rowena stood in the doorway. She walked down the stairs as Dean sighed, sitting on the cot wearily.

"Yeah," he muttered, "thanks."

The witch took the gauze pads from his hands and pressed it against his forehead.

They were silent for a moment. Dean was still trying to get used to having an empty head.

He cleared his throat, "You okay?"

She pursed her lips, "Were you okay when you realized you were being controlled and had killed people in the process?"

He nodded, "I get it, it's rough. But you have to remind yourself it wasn't you."

"I know," she replied, "it'll take time, but I know."

They were silent again. Rowena applied some antibacterial ointment to his wound.

"And yourself?" the red-headed witch asked.

He shrugged, "I'll be fine."

"I know you will be fine, but I'm asking how are you right now?"

He was hesitant for a moment, "Honestly?"

She nodded.

"I feel like hell," he pulled away for a moment, "and I should know, I've been there."

"Dean, you've been fighting against an archangel inside your mind for far too long. Any man would've given up long ago. It's only right you feel both mentally and physically exhausted."

"It's not just that," he shook his head, "Michael made me feel things, see things, say things. Things I never thought I would have ever done or said. Yeah, I'm tired and yeah I'm beat, but it doesn't matter if beneath it all I feel…useless."

"Useless?" Rowena's jaw dropped slightly.

Dean looked to the floor, unable to meet her gaze.

"You listen to me, Dean Winchester," her voice echoed through the room, "you did not defeat the yellow-eyed demon that killed both your mother and father, Lilith, Hell and Purgatory, Lucifer and Michael, the Leviathan infestation, Metatron, the Mark of Cain, The Darkness, Death, and thousands of spirits and demons just so you can sit here and call yourself useless."

Dean blinked at her in shock.

"It is only because of Samuel and yourself that we're all still alive and breathing today. Yes, you have been through a torment like no other, but you must rise from the ashes again because you can. A useless man would not have been able to spit an archangel from his mind and body, but _you _did."

"But all the things Michael showed me-"

"A fallacy. Michael attempted to corrupt your spirit in every way he knew how. You boys are an inspiration, Dean, to everyone. Despite every trial thrown your ways, you have the drive to fight on. Do not let him win now by admitting to his victory."

Dean looked up, his jaw set. Rowena stared into his eyes. They burned bright. She smirked.

"Now, I'll ask you again," Rowena didn't tear her gaze away, "how are you?"

After a moment, a ghost of a smile spread across his lips, "Never better."

0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was a few hours later in the bunker. Dean couldn't sleep. Despite his exhaustion, his mind was racing. He was sifting through his thoughts and memories, trying to decipher what was real and what wasn't. What was a remnant of Michael and what was truly him.

"Dean."

Cass sat across from him. He had presented Dean with a beer, which he accepted gratefully. He popped the can open and took a few welcome sips.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing alright, Cass," and he meant it. Ever since his pep talk with Rowena, his entire perspective was changing on the matter. He wouldn't let Michael win, in his head or not.

"I'm glad to hear it," the angel look relieved.

"Jack?"

"He insists he's fine, but I fear for his soul. He consumed a lot of it to destroy Michael."

"I guess it's a waiting game now," Dean sighed, "we'll just have to sit tight and see how he does for the next few days."

Cass nodded, looking at the table.

Dean winced, catching his attention. He looked up to see that he was holding the gauze taped to his forehead.

"Let me," Castiel stood, walking to his side. He pressed two fingers against his forehead, mending the injury. In a few seconds, Dean was alright.

"Thanks, Cass."

"Dean," he took a breath, "I'm very glad you're okay."

"Me too."

"When the demigod smashed your head into the wall," he shook his head, turning away, "I was sure-"

"Let's just be glad that wasn't the case."

"I don't think you realize how much your brother and yourself have meant to me. I've lived a long time, Dean, but befriending you two has been the highlight of it."

Dean smirked, "Don't get all sappy on me yet, Cass, we still have work to do."

"Yes, of course," Cass nodded, "I also apologize for not being able to heal you earlier. I was frustrated and angry, I should've been there for you."

"You all were. I heard you guys in there. It was the one thing that helped me stop Michael."

"What was it like in there?" Cass asked tentatively.

Dean sighed, "Dark. Just a lot of emptiness, just Michael and I."

"And you fought him?"

"Oh yeah," he chuckled, "wasn't easy. Son of a bitch has got a swing."

"How did you get him to leave?"

Dean smiled, looking off, "I heard Sammy. He told me to keep fighting, so I did."

Cass was silent.

"I made a promise to my dad, Cass, that I'd be there for him. Now, I've already kicked the bucket a few ways, but I wasn't going to let some winged bastard make me bite it," Dean took another sip of his beer, "but promise or not, I wasn't going to leave you two out here alone."

Cass smiled. He stepped forward and gave Dean a tight hug. He was alive, he was well, he was himself. No Michael. Dean patted him on the shoulder. Sam cleared his throat in the doorway.

Cass pulled away.

"Oh no," Sam smirked, "don't stop on my account."

Sam descended the steps. Castiel could tell the brothers would want to exchange a few words in private.

"I'd better go check on Jack."

"Night, Cass."

He disappeared further in the bunker.

Dean slid his beer can over to his brother who took a grateful swig. Sam looked weary, as did Dean.

"Look at us," Sam huffed, "we look beat."

"I had an archangel in my brain, what's your excuse?"

Sam smiled.

"You don't look so good," Dean furrowed his brow.

"Me? Don't worry about me, focus on getting yourself better first."

"Sam, the hunters...I'm sorry."

His brother looked away, clenching his jaw. Dean knew him well enough to tell that that was the root of his pain and sorrow.

He changed the subject, "Is Rowena?"

"Gone home," Sam replied.

Dean nodded.

"I," Sam started, "I, uh, heard you talking to Cass a bit. Did you really hear me inside your head?"

"'Course I did, Sammy. If it wasn't for you, honestly I don't think I would've made it."

"Well, I'm glad it helped."

Dean nodded, finishing off the beer, "Well, I think it's time to hit the hay."

"Now you can finally get some sleep."

Dean closed his eyes in relief for a moment, before standing up. He noticed Sam kept angling his body away from him. He was sniffing a bit, running a hand through his hair. Again, Dean knew Sam too well. He took a step closer to him.

"Look, Sammy, you didn't know what was going to happen to the other hunters. We'll give them a hunter's burial tomorrow-"

"It's not just that," his brother cut him off, voice tight.

"What is it?"

Dean took another step closer.

"Sam?"

His voice wavered, "I...I thought I lost you for good."

Dean felt his chest tighten. All that time with Michael in his head, Sammy drove him back across country, stood by his bedside, tried to help in any way he could. All that time filled with worry, desperation, concern, and pain.

Dean turned his brother to face him and brought him in for a hug. Sam wrapped his arms around him tightly, trying to keep his composure.

"You're not gonna get rid of me that easily."

Sam managed a small smile. Dean pulled away.

"Now, let's go to bed. Tomorrow's a new day and those monsters don't sleep."

Sam nodded, relieved. He walked through the doorway first, back to his room. Dean lingered for a moment. He looked at the bunker. In just one night, so much had transpired. A few hours ago, Jack destroyed Michael in this very room. Now, he was safe and secure back in the bunker and in control of his own being. What he had said to Sammy was true. Like Rowena said, he wasn't useless. He was strong and would fight every day of his life to keep his family and the world safe. Tomorrow was a new day, time to get back into rotation, time to reenter the fight.

He shut off the lights and headed to his room.

**The End! Leave me a fav/follow/review if you enjoyed!**


End file.
